Rampaging Roosters, page 8
Chapter 25
In Pursuit of a Generous Dowry
On his return to Astakos Bald Yannis settled in behind the hardware shop counter. Hoping he wouldn’t be disturbed by any annoying customers he started to pen a love letter to Moronic Mitsos. Chewing on the end of his ballpoint and rubbing his still painful tear gassed eyes he tried to come up with something romantic to write, but admitted to himself such nonsense really was not his forte. Having been single all his life Bald Yannis was clueless how to approach women so his literary efforts were rather dire, though to his credit he was soon able to emulate the best of the ‘catfishers’ as their missives tended to be appalling.
“I am absolutely impressing to see your handsome looks,” his letter began “and I find it difficult to get you out of my mind.”
He hoped he sounded like a besotted female English school teacher. It was important he was convincing if he was to successfully extract more money from the moron. His missive continued,
“You look so nice, so manly, with a smiling outlook and every woman knows something good must appreciate the goodly creature in you. If you were a flower I would not pick you but grow you in the garden and cultivate and smell you.”
His soppy masterpiece was interrupted by the arrival of Toothless Tasos seeking compensation for losing his finger in the lethal blades of the fan.
“Yous can’t claim money,” Bald Yannis sneered, pointing at the newly penned shop sign declaring: “If yous loses fingers in fans the hardware shop is not liable for yous stupidity.”
“I will ‘ave to see what Slick Socrates says about that,” Toothless Tasos said huffily, adding “the least yous can do is give me some free turpentine to get the green paint off my finger.”
“If turpentine worked does you think I’d still be walking round with this ‘ere green hand?” Bald Yannis retorted, waving his green hand in the air. “It will take years for green resilient boat paint to come off. I could sell yous some sandpaper to rub the top layer of skin off, I suppose.”
Toothless Tasos handed over the cash for a large sheet of sandpaper and went on his way, muttering he would see Bald Yannis in court. It was all hot air though as he had no intention of handing over any of his hard earned money to that charlatan lawyer Socrates.
“Po po, I ‘ave lost my romantic thread,” Bald Yannis muttered under his breath, while stroking his pet goat Agapimeni for inspiration. The feel of the goat’s warm flesh plus the strain of composing a love letter made him wonder if he was missing out by remaining single. If he got himself a wife he could put her to use around the house and in the shop. The more he thought about it the more the idea of acquiring a wife suddenly appealed to him, especially the idea of a wife with a substantial dowry. She would need to be able to cook tasty vegetarian food, be good with a scrubbing brush and never nag him or answer him back.
He began to wonder how one actually went about finding a wife as he wasn’t gullible enough to fall for a scammer on the Internet like Moronic Mitsos and Hattie had done. He supposed he would have to actually meet a woman and woo her, but he had no idea how to go about it. The only woman to show any interest in him in the last decade was the frightful old hag Nitsa and he wasn’t that desperate.
Suddenly it occurred to him that the old fashioned custom of using a matchmaker would most likely suit his purpose. He decided to strike while the iron was hot and telephoned an old aunt of his in a high-up mountain village who’d had much success in pairing up the most difficult to match people. He told her,
“I is after a wife what is not shy of hard work and who ‘as a generous dowry. I don’t care ‘ow ugly she looks as long as she’s not the mouthy nagging type.”
His aunt promised to draw up a list of wifely candidates for Bald Yannis to vet. With the matter resolved he went back to his letter and began to describe his voluptuous womanly figure and his shiny long hair to Moronic Mitsos.
Chapter 26
The Parrot Parrots Some Home Truths
Stavroula was screaming at Slick Socrates in the taverna kitchen. The sea salt she had asked him to collect from the rock pools by the sea had a nasty yellow tinge which her customers would be rightly suspicious of.
“How was I to know goats had peed in the rock pool water?” Socrates said in his defence. “Happen the customers won’t notice, but if they do just tells them it is exotic salt.”
Their argument was interrupted by the arrival of old Kyrios Kokkoratis from the village of Kokkoras, who pulled up outside the taverna in a pick-up truck piled high with cages of hens and roosters. Stavroula was delighted to have the first pick of the crop of cocks and plumped for a dozen very plump specimens. She chose some fine egg laying hens to complement the roosters and settled the new birds comfortably in the chicken coop. She smiled to herself as the coop reminded her of the final resting place of her second husband Kostas, which the bungling policemen from Pouthena had been too incompetent to discover.
“Where does I find the Americans what wants some birds?” Kyrios Kokkoratis asked. As luck would have it Quentin and Deirdre were having coffee in Stavroula’s taverna with Hattie and Fotini. In no time at all Quentin was persuaded to buy several hens and roosters to house in the new chicken coop Achilles the borrowed builder had built in the garden. Although both he and Deirdre were totally clueless in the art of chicken keeping Fotini assured them she would look after the birds in exchange for freshly laid eggs.
Kyrios Kokkoratis was busy trying to squash all the now cage free birds into Quentin’s car. It was quite a squeeze with Quentin and Deirdre in the front, and Hattie and Fotini on the back seat with hens and roosters on their knees and pecking around their feet. Fotini screeched “keep your ‘ands to yourself yous pervert,” as Kyrios Kokkoratis brushed up against her, attempting to squeeze the last bird into the livestock packed car.
“Keep your ‘ands to yourself yous pervert,” resounded in the air as something perfectly mimicked Fotini’s words in a high pitched squawking tone.
“That’s the parrot talking, it’s a quick study,” Kyrios Kokkoratis explained, asking the foursome, “Does yous want to see it?”
Quentin and Deirdre had no interest in viewing the parrot. They wanted to get home as quickly as they could to escape the close proximity of their chicken cargo and its very distinctive fowl smell. Fotini had other ideas though and insisted on viewing the parrot, to which she took an instant liking. Testing its verbal skills she said “K-Went-In is gormless,” and to her great delight the parrot responded, “K-Went is gormless, K-Went-In keep your ‘ands to yourself you pervert, K-Went-In is gormless.”
Fotini cackled happily. She was quite entranced by the parrot and most determined to have it. Catching sight of her son Prosperous Pedros drinking coffee in the kafenion she insisted Quentin toot his horn to attract his attention.
“What is it now mother?” Pedros queried hoping his mother wasn’t about to make any unreasonable and time consuming demands.
“Can yous pay for this ‘ere parrot Pedro and I will pay yous back when I gets my meagre pension?” Fotini asked.
Prosperous Pedros launched into keen negotiations over the price of the parrot with Kyrios Kokkoratis who was actually desperate to be to be rid of the foul mouthed creature. Satisfied he had got the parrot for a bargain price Pedros told his mother the bird was his gift to her and she need not part with any of her meagre pension.
“Yous is a good son Pedro,” Fotini said warmly. “Come by the ‘ouse later and I will cook yous up fresh eggs what these ‘ere hens will lay.”
As Quentin drove past the hardware shop Fotini taught the parrot to say “Bald Yannis fancies Nitsa,” and by the time they drove past the church the parrot was word perfect as it shrilled “the Pappas is a drunken wife beater.”
The parrot could not have picked a more inopportune moment to accuse the Pappas of being a drunken wife beater as he was at that very minute welcoming some higher-ups from the church in his most grovelling manner. The professional image he was striving to project with his eye on a promotion up the church ladder was shattered as he shouted “shut up you malaka,” at the parrot. Clapping a hand over his mouth he apologised profusely to the bishop for his use of the common expletive.
Ignoring the parrot’s accusations completely the Pappas launched into a self-promoting monologue, extolling his great success in petitioning against the nudist beach to keep the children safe from such wanton lewdness. He explained to the bishop how he been elected in the role of village leader to petition for the release of an innocent old lady who had been thrown into prison, as it was the Godly and humane thing to do. The bishop was beginning to look suitably impressed when Slick Socrates suddenly burst into the church, proclaiming,
“About time you agreed to divorce Petula, she’ll be well rid of you. I need you to sign these here papers to get the divorce rolling.”
Without saying a single word the Pappas put his signature on the papers while pushing Socrates hastily out of the door. Turning back he was horrified to note the look of complete disapproval on the bishop’s face and blurted out,
“I have to divorce my wife on account she is fornicating with another man.”
The bishop immediately sympathised with the cuckolded Pappas, telling him “divorce is the business of the anti-Christ but it is a terrible sin when a married woman fornicates with another man. Perhaps if I had a serious talk with her and can persuade her to fall at your feet and beg your forgiveness you could consider taking her back.”
The Pappas blanched at the prospect of the bishop finding out from Petula that she was in fact the innocent party and it was he that had been caught out on camera fornicating on the kitchen table with the amorous widow. If the bishop found out he was the actual sinner his days in the church would be over. Not only would he be out of his job but out of the house that came with his churchly position.
“Please no, do not think of troubling yourself Bishop, my wife has gone too far on the path of sin to deserve redemption. It is best we part ways and I will dedicate my future life to God with no wifely distractions,” the Pappas pleaded. “Luckily we have no children to consider.”
“Well if you are sure the marriage is over you may have your divorce from the adulterous floozy,” the bishop said. “But you know you will have to remain single as you cannot remarry in the eye of the church.”
“I have no interest in women, only God,” the Pappas lied through his teeth, hoping the bishop would not stay much longer as he was already late for his secret rendezvous with the amorous widow Mrs Christeas.
Chapter 27
Filthy Foreign Food Muck
That old fool Vasilis was fit to burst with pride when he saw his beautiful young bride being interviewed live on the television news. However his mood soon turned sour when he spotted the smitten young doctor ministering to the tear gassed Japanese tourists as he jealously didn’t want him anywhere near his wife. Climbing onto Onos the donkey he headed into the village, hoping to find mail order Masha drinking vodka in ‘Mono Ellinka Trofima’.
“She stopped up in town to ‘ave dinner with that young reporter,” Yiota told him “an’ if yous wants food we only ‘ave lamb chops tonight as I ‘ad no time to cook when protesting.”
Vasilis frowned in annoyance, suspecting his wife was actually embroiled in a secret assignation with the smitten young doctor. Remembering her temper tantrum when he had falsely accused her of carrying on with the doctor, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt as the least expensive option. He was inordinately pleased when the other villagers told him Masha looked like a movie star on the television. He decided he would give her the money to pay for the cheek fillers she had been hinting at for weeks.
The other villagers were all tucking into Takis’ aromatic grilled lamb chops. Curious eyes settled on Deirdre when she surreptitiously pulled a jar of shop bought green sludge from the depths of her handbag and spooned it liberally over her meat.
“What’s that yous is putting on the lamb, Did-Rees?” Tall Thomas asked her, to which Deirdre replied, “It is mint sauce, a most delicious condiment to pair with lamb.”
“Sounds like one of them peculiar foreign ways of messing with good Greek foods that cannot be improved with anything but oregano,” said Prosperous Pedros, gnawing heartily on a vegetarian lamb chop liberally doused with a squeeze of fresh lemon. As the jar was passed round from table to table everyone agreed the notion of mint sauce was most peculiar. The locals sniffed it suspiciously before denouncing it as filthy foreign food muck which had no place on a good Greek table.
“Yous will learn Did-Rees,” Takis told her. “Yous need to adapt to Greek ways now yous is living ‘ere. Yous don’t want to be mistaken for them tourists what asks for grilled children when they means to order lamb chops,” he chortled, recounting how many foreign people confused ‘paidakia’ with ‘paidia’ through simple mispronunciation.
“Next you’ll expect me to wash my bedding in the sea,” Deirdre said, but her joke went completely over their heads and they asked if she was planning on having Quentin baptised.
“I have no intention of letting the odious Pappas dunk me in his oily font,” Quentin quipped.
As soon as the Pappas was mentioned the villagers began to gossip about his impending divorce from Petula. They unanimously agreed the lovely Petula was well rid of the Pappas and speculated if she and Gorgeous Yiorgos were now a romantic item.
Fat Christos stared wistfully at the lamb chops as his diet was still restricted to liquidised foods. It had been months since he had tasted anything solid and he was beginning to hanker after his mother’s unhealthy liquidised delights. The only thing preventing a dietary lapse was the memory of the agony he endured when his stapled stomach had a close encounter with liquidised sausages, spinach pies, and bougatsa. He sipped his water and enjoyed the company of his friends. He hoped their chatter would take his mind off his mother’s poisonous references to the true paternity of Tassia’s unborn child and her snide remarks about which of the villagers the baby would resemble. He was content in his new marriage and his ownership of a burgeoning supermarket empire, but his mother’s constant hints he was not the father of Tassia’s baby was grating on his nerves.
He could live with the fact Tassia had most likely already been pregnant before he had endured the rather sweaty encounter with her in the garden shed, but he was concerned his mother’s suspicions would get out and upset Tassia. His marriage to her had brought him enough money to give up his life of fishing and become a man of, admittedly thin, substance. He had grown fond of Tassia and her unassuming ways and he did not want her to be shamed. He wondered if there was any way to find out who the father was so he could buy his silence with a brown envelope and preserve Tassia’s secret for eternity, but he had no clue who she had done the guilty deed with.
Adonis slunk into the taverna shrouded in a mood of abject self pity. The Japanese tourists had barricaded themselves into their hotel rooms and refused to come out as they were fearful for their lives after the violent encounter with the riot police. Adonis was worried future tourists from Japan would cancel their bookings due to the negative publicity of the tear gassing incident.
“I bet if yous persuaded Bald Yannis to take ‘is precious goat to visit ‘em in the ‘otel they would come round,” Takis suggested to Adonis’ great delight, surmising the solution was perfect. Adonis phoned Bald Yannis and offered him an enormous bribe to get out of his bed and take the pet goat down to the hotel. As both men had a vested interest in fermenting an abiding interest in Astakos from the Japanese they were able to come to a cordial arrangement. In no time at all Agapimeni was being paraded between hotel rooms in her knitted finery. Her celebrity presence calmed the tourists so much they agreed to write nice things about the village on their social media accounts and play down the awfulness of being gassed.
“’Ere turn up the telly,” Tall Thomas demanded as the news coverage was showing highlights of the prison protest.
“There’s my Masha,” that old fool Vasilis said with pride, but he was shushed as everyone wanted to listen closely to the telephone interview Nitsa was giving from the prison governor’s office.
“Oh dear we must do more to get old aunty out,” Tall Thomas wailed “she’s in no fit ‘ealth to survive starvation an’ being tortured on the rack.”
“The canny old crone is pulling their legs,” Yiota asserted. “If they is really torturing ‘er I’ll eat Did-Rees revolting mint sauce. Listen to ‘ow that useful eejit from Amnesty International is ‘anging on ‘er every word, what a plonker. She’s just saying all this rubbish to get the sympathy vote. Let us keep our fingers crossed it works. Slick Socrates is checking back with the authorities in the morning so we’ll know more then.”
“I’d best be off in case Masha goes straight ‘ome to the ‘ouse,” that old fool Vasilis announced. Seeing mail order Masha on television had stirred something in him that had not been naturally roused since his honeymoon. Climbing onto Onos the donkey he tossed his bottle of Viagra into the sea.
Chapter 28
The Housekeeper
Without a wife to return home to the Pappas cast caution to the wind and spent the night with the amorous widow Mrs Christeas in her rented harbour-side house. He had moved up in the world from fumbling around on her kitchen table to a place in her bed. He was rudely awoken the next morning, even before Stavroula’s new roosters could start crowing, by someone banging loudly on the front door. Crawling across the bedroom floor on his elbows to avoid detection he cast a furtive glance out of the window and spied two burly men beating forcefully on the door, demanding entrance.
The widow Christeas was horrified at the prospect of anyone catching her in her hair curlers and demanded the Pappas get rid of the unwanted visitors. The Pappas turned on her, angrily crying “are you demented woman, it’s more than my jobs worth if anyone finds out I spent the night in your bed. You get rid of them while I climb out of the kitchen window.”
